


Soulmates

by scarletmanuka



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Daemons, M/M, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: Dæmon /ˈdiːmən/ the physical manifestation of a human soul (His Dark Materials Wiki)





	Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> I was processing donated books yesterday at the library where I work and someone had donated Northern Lights. I hadn't read it in years and I suddenly needed to know how our boys would fare if they had visible souls that expressed the emotions they tried to keep hidden. This came from that little plot bunny. I hope you all enjoy.

It was nearing 4pm and Mycroft couldn’t help but glance at the clock as he sat, sipping tea, with Mummy. It was only a ten minute walk from the local high school to home, so by all rights, Sherlock should have been home by now. This was the first time he’d been home in thirteen months, and he was grateful that he’d been granted leave so he could spend a month over summer with his family. He’d been recruited to MI5 directly from university, and had worked almost constantly for the first year to prove himself. He had succeeded far beyond even his own expectations - he’d not only cemented himself as indispensable to the secret service, but to the government in general. He had plans for his future, and they were progressing ahead of schedule. Now that his superiors had recognised his worth, it was time to step back; take some annual leave, spend time with his family, and let the service realise how little got done when he wasn’t there. By the time he got back, he was almost guaranteed the promotion he was after.

Of course, it wasn’t only a strategic career move to take the leave. Mycroft missed Sherlock terribly - more than he probably should. When he was at uni, he had made sure he came home on every break, and he wrote to his brother regularly. Since he’d started his job, he’d not been home, and the letters had petered out as well. The separation from his sibling had been almost painful and there were nights when he had curled up in bed, missing Sherlock so much that Amynta had paced the house, whining with longing.

A little like she was doing now.

His daemon - a stout little corgi - was pacing to and fro in front of the window, the epitome of nervous energy. He glared at her and she sent him an apologetic look in return, but seemed unable to stop. Mycroft glanced at the clock yet again - 4:10pm. Where _was_ Sherlock? He cut eyes across to Mummy, who was prattling away about the work Father had done on the new garden shed, and her own research, seemingly unaware of his or his daemon’s twitchiness. Her own daemon, Euclid, was fluttering about her head, but she paid no heed to the tiny hummingbird.

“Shouldn’t Sherlock be home by now?” he asked, cutting across her monologue.

“Pardon?” she asked, surfacing from her thoughts and seeming to notice him sitting there for the first time. She had always fallen neatly into the ‘mad professor’ niche, but he was long used to her idiosyncrasies.

“I said, I thought my brother would have been home from school by now.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at the clock herself before shrugging. “He’s often home late. I think he’s just spending time with his friends.” She then took back up where she’d left off, talking about a journal article she was thinking of co-authoring.

Mycroft allowed her voice to fade into the background as he pondered her words. He found them hard to believe himself and was inclined to worry instead. Sherlock was not the sort to form friendships, and when Mycroft had left, there had definitely not been anyone he’d have called a friend. The older brother couldn’t see that changing in the past year, though he had to admit that a lot could change in twelve months, especially for a maturing boy. Amynta whined low in her throat, voicing their joint distress.

Ten minutes later, the corgi began frantically wagging her curled tail, and Mycroft sighed in relief at knowing his brother was in sight. The door slammed open and soon the doorway was filled with gangly limbs, tousled hair, and a frightful scowl. At Sherlock’s feet scampered his otter daemon, Spyridoula, who paused to survey the room.

“Hello, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, rising from the couch and refraining from rushing over to gather his surly brother into a hug.

Sherlock didn't answer, just glared, and the older man couldn’t blame him. It must have felt very much like he had been abandoned by his sibling, especially since they’d been so close when they were younger. In truth, that was exactly what it was. Amynta darted forward to nuzzle at Spy, but the otter hid herself behind Sherlock’s legs, her furry arms wrapped around one of his shins as she peered out.

“See, I told you he’d be along as soon as he’d finished up with his friends,” Mummy said absently.

Mycroft managed to refrain from raising an eyebrow in disbelief at her ignorance, but his daemon could not. She turned and stared at the woman in shock, her eyes twitching in irritation. How could their mother have missed the faint bruise on Sherlock’s cheek? Or the scuff marks on the knees of his trousers? Or the ruffled fur at the throat of the otter that screamed she had been manhandled by another daemon?

Sherlock turned suddenly and left the doorway, heading upstairs to his bedroom. Mycroft hesitated for only a second before he followed. He’d been an absent brother these past twelve months but he vowed he would do all he could to make up for that - starting now. The corgi dashed in front of him, her little legs helping her scramble up the stairs and then she nosed open the door to the bedroom and disappeared inside.

“What do you want?” Sherlock demanded as he threw his school bag onto his desk.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked instead.

His brother just shrugged and began unbuttoning the crisp white shirt of his school uniform. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters, Sherlock. Someone has been hurting you!”

“I can handle it.”

“That doesn’t matter - you shouldn’t _have to_.” He sat down on the edge of his brother’s bed and tried not to fall into a well of self recrimination. He should never have allowed such a distance to grow between them. Perhaps if he’d stayed in contact, Sherlock would have opened up to him and admitted he was being beaten by the school bullies and he’d have been able to do something. But he’d had his own shameful reasons for cutting off contact, least of which was he was too busy at work.

He’d always adored his baby brother, but the last time he’d been home for the holidays before he’d graduated from uni, he had been shocked to find his regard for his brother had changed. They’d been sitting together in the library, discussing an article in the paper about a serial killer loose on the streets of London, when he found himself with a sudden erection. With puberty long past, he couldn’t dismiss it as being a spontaneous occurrence - something had caused it. That something was sitting opposite, his glorious eyes glittering with excitement, long hands gesturing as he spoke, the tumble of ebony curls highlighting the long expanse of pale throat.

Mycroft realised that he had somehow become sexually attracted to his younger brother.

Amynta had bounded onto his lap, licking at his hand as she sensed his distress. He’d soothed her as best he could, but nothing could negate the fact that what he had felt was wrong, and immoral. Worse still, he didn't care. The urge to cross the space between them, kneel between those long legs, and pull his brother in for a heated kiss was almost overwhelming. So he did what any good brother would have done.

He fled.

He hoped that time apart would diminish the depraved feelings, but it didn't seem to. He deliberately didn’t go home for Christmas but his mother sent him a letter in mid-January with a photo of his brother at the family dinner for his sixteenth birthday. He’d stared, wide eyed at the photo, seeing that Sherlock had grown even more into a striking young man. His cock had stirred just looking at the photo, and later that night, when he was tucked up in his bed, he’d taken himself in hand while he held the picture in his mind’s eye. His daemon had curled up next to him afterwards, crying softly as he twitched through the aftershocks of his pleasure and self loathing.

“What are we going to do?” she’d asked eventually. “We can’t avoid going home forever.”

That thought had stayed with him for a long time, and he eventually found himself admitting that running hadn’t solved anything. It was time he got control of his incestuous feelings and locked them away so they would stop coming between himself and Sherlock. He needed to start acting like a big brother again, and that meant he had to stop being so selfish and put his sibling first.

He was startled out of his reverie by Sherlock slipping his shirt off his shoulders and throwing it into the hamper. His brother’s body was long and lithe, and it caused heat to pool in Mycroft’s belly. Of course, it was tempered slightly by the patches of yellow and purple blooms that covered one half of his side. It was clear the bruises were from several beatings - the newer ones more vivid than the older ones. Desire and the fierce need to protect the boy before him warred within him, and he stayed silent as he watched Sherlock shrug into a white t shirt.

“Spyridoula settled,” he commented.

Sherlock nodded. “A few months ago. She...Mycroft? What is your daemon doing to mine?” he asked sharply.

Mycroft’s head jerked around and he saw that the corgi was laying flush against the small otter and was licking at her little, furry face. Strangely enough, Spy seemed almost content, and was nuzzling back against the dog. “More to the point,” the older man said, “why is Spy allowing it?”

They both fell silent, lost in their own heads. As much as Mycroft loved his daemon, he hated having a part of himself that could be read so easily by the rest of the world. It had been hard, but he’d managed to train her to be more reserved when he was working. It seemed that now that he was home, and in a place that was considered safe, Amynta was allowing herself to revert back to her natural tendencies. The fact that his brother’s daemon was allowing the show of affection was puzzling. It almost allowed him to hope that perhaps he felt more than just brotherly affection for Mycroft as well, but he dismissed that instantly. It was more likely that he was just secretly pleased his brother was home after so long.

“Spy, come here,” Sherlock demanded, once the silence had grown almost uncomfortable.

The otter looked over at her human and seemed reluctant to move. She reached up with tiny paws and seemed to caress Amynta’s face before she scurried over to Sherlock. He picked her up and despite the glare on his face, petted her gently.

“I guess I’ll go and wash up before dinner,” Mycroft said, hoping to cover his embarrassment at the situation. However puzzling Sherlock’s daemon’s behaviour was, his own was crystal clear. Amynta was gazing at Sherlock and Spy with large, sad eyes, begging to be allowed to cuddle once more with the otter. It didn't take a daemonologist to decipher the joint feelings of human and daemon.

Mycroft didn’t wait for a response from his brother, just hurried to the door, the corgi following reluctantly. They went down the corridor to their own room and Mycroft flopped onto the bed. The mattress dipped as his daemon joined him and he reached out to stroke down the soft fur of her back. “That couldn’t have gone worse,” he declared.

“I disagree. Spy could have bitten off one of my ears.”

He moved his hand up until he was stoking one of the silky ears. “That would have been a horrible shame. You have lovely ears.”

Amynta licked at his wrist and then lay her head down, enjoying the feeling of her human’s touch. “Do you think he’ll say anything?” she asked.

“I doubt he’ll mention it. Sherlock’s grasp of human behaviour has always been more limited than most. He obviously noticed your odd behaviour, but I doubt he’ll put two and two together.”

Th corgi huffed. “Perhaps he’ll surprise us.”

“Perhaps,” Mycroft conceded. “But I wouldn’t get our hopes up.”

It wasn’t long before Mummy came and fetched them for dinner. She always made a roast the first night Mycroft was back home, a tradition she’d started when he’d gone off to university. The table was laden with food and he ignored the pointed look Sherlock gave him as he piled his plate high with food. Mummy’s cooking was nothing to scoff at and he felt no shame in indulging. Roast beef was Amynta’s favourite so at least half the meat would find its way to her muzzle over the course of the meal anyway.

Father gave his eldest a pleased smile across the table, obviously happy that his whole family was back together. His badger daemon, Nyx, had snuffled at the corgi happily before planting himself at Father’s feet. Mummy had started to tell everyone about her journal article, and Mycroft could have sworn she’d picked up exactly where she’d left off that afternoon. Sherlock ignored Mummy and sniped quietly at his brother. “Do leave some of the potatoes for the rest of us, brother. Too much starchy food will leave you flatulent for the entire evening.”

“There are more than enough potatoes left to generate your own bodily gases, brother mine, have no fear.”

“That is if we survive long enough to consume them. I have no doubt your gases are highly toxic and we’ll be dead before dessert.”

“That’s a shame for you, but a happy turn for me as there will be more trifle for me.”

“You need less trifle, not more. Your arse is getting too wide to fit through the doorway.”

The meal continued, with Sherlock’s comments getting more and more barbed. Mycroft didn’t take them to heart however, as he noticed that the nastier his brother got, the more his daemon snuggled with his own. He’d seen the two animals orbit each other as they’d entered the room, and they’d both settled down on the floor beneath the chairs of their humans. After a few minutes, Amynta had inched forward, and Spy had mirrored her. Soon, they were nose to nose, and they sniffed and snuffled at each other. Then the otter had almost shyly closed the gap even further and plastered herself down the side of the corgi. Amynta had given a happy little wuff and curled her body around Spy. They seemed rather content to cuddle together, ignoring their bickering humans.

Finally dinner was over and Sherlock stood and announced he was off to his room to conduct an experiment. Mycroft stayed and chatted with his father for some time, but then excused himself to go and shower. He was feeling exhausted, not only due to the long drive down, but because of the mental sparring he had been doing with his brother all evening.

He stepped into the bathroom, noticing the large bath was always filled with water, a small flap installed in the door so Spy could access it whenever she needed. He turned the shower on, hotter than usual and allowed the heat to relax some of his muscles. Amynta lay down on the bathmat, resting her head on her front paws, content to sit this one out. Both she and Mycroft were fastidious about her grooming, and she prided herself on her soft, fluffy coat, but she didn’t need to bathe every time her human did.

Once he’d finished in the shower, Mycroft dried off and slung a towel low about his hips, then filled the sink with hot water and started to shave. He was just wiping away the last of the foam when the bathroom door slammed open and Sherlock stepped inside. “Can I help you?” Mycroft asked archly as he calmly regarded his brother.

Sherlock’s mouth opened to reply, but no words seemed to come out. He obviously didn't know the room was occupied, and wasn’t expecting to find his brother, nearly naked. Spy scampered past him, making a beeline for the bath, but she paused when she noticed the mat was full of corgi. She happily changed her trajectory and was soon bumping up against the low shoulder of the dog. Amynta wagged her tail and gave the otter a friendly lick along her jaw, and tilted her head so the tiny paws could rub at her ears. Meanwhile, Sherlock’s eyes had trailed down Mycroft’s chest, his eyes widening. The older man tried his best to not feel too self conscious, even though he knew he had nothing to be worried about.

He’d been chubby when he’d left for uni, but years without Mummy’s cooking, and long days with additional lectures and no time to stop to eat had meant the weight had fallen off him very quickly. The training for MI5 had honed his body into a fit, and muscular physique, very different to the last time his brother had seen him shirtless. It still took a concerted effort not to hold his stomach in, or pull another towel off the rack and cover up.

Sherlock was still silently gaping at him, and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You look good,” a voice piped up from the floor.

It was Mycroft’s turn to gape as he turned to to stare at the otter. “Did Spy just speak to me?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Sherlock glanced down at his daemon. “So it would seem.”

“Why?”

“Because Sherlock appeared incapable of speech and _one_ of us has to make sure he doesn’t appear as an imbecile.” Spy’s voice was light and high, but she was clearly just as intelligent as her human.

“We’d never think either of you were imbeciles,” Amynta told her, rubbing her nose against her cheek.

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” the daemon replied.

“I was needing to wash my hands,” Sherlock managed to say, answering the original question.

Mycroft stood to the side and waved regally at the sink. “By all means.”

The teen moved into the vacated space and turned the tap on, but his eyes sought out his brother’s reflection in the mirror. Mycroft was aware he was staring, but chose to ignore it, focussing his attention instead on the two daemons. They were grooming each other now, both looking like they were in sheer bliss as tongues and paws swiped over fur and faces. “It’s truly remarkable,” he commented, mostly to himself. “I’ve never seen daemons act in such a manner, other than those whose humans are romantically involved.”

“It’s not like any of us are exactly _normal_ ,” Amynta told him.

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

Spy shrugged. “Does it really matter? Why must we define everything?”

Sherlock made a strangled gasp as he listened to his daemon speak to his brother, and then he fled from the bathroom. The otter gave an apologetic wave of a paw and then followed after him.

The corgi came and leaned against Mycroft’s legs. “I’m so confused,” she murmured.

“As am I,” he admitted. He was getting such mixed signals from his brother and he had no idea if Sherlock was glad he was home, hated him, or desired him. He yawned widely and decided that he would leave those ponderings for the morning. He made his way to his bedroom and changed into pyjamas, then got into bed. His daemon jumped up onto the bed and settled at his feet, and he turned the lamp off. Darkness swamped the room and he lay there, unable to sleep as his mind whirled with thoughts. Amynta shifted at his feet, his own tumultuous emotions keeping her awake as well. There was the creak of a door and he glanced over to see Sherlock outlined in the doorway. Another creak, and the light disappeared, and he heard the soft noises of his brother and daemon crossing the carpet. He sat up and turned the lamp on again so he could see what was happening.

Sherlock paused as the room was suddenly illuminated, midway through lifting the blanket. “Mind if I come in?” he asked belatedly.

Mycroft didn't answer, just shifted over to make room. He noticed that Spy had already joined Amynta on the end of the bed and they were already entwined. He wished he knew what it meant, but had a feeling he’d find out soon enough.

Sherlock lay down, resting his head on the pillow, his glorious blue-green eyes fixed on his brother. He was quiet, but his eyes were busy, moving over the contours of Mycroft’s face as if he were memorising every inch. “How did I never notice before?” he asked quietly.

“Notice what?” the older man asked, just as quietly, not wanting to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the room.

Sherlock shifted forward and reached up to touch his face. “How beautiful you are.”

He felt his face flush, and from their feet he heard the happy humming noise that his corgi made. “You exaggerate, brother mine,” he said softly.

Ebony curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head. “No, I don’t. I guess I never allowed myself to look before, but now I can’t stop myself.”

Mycroft felt himself pressing his cheek against Sherlock’s palm, and they shifted closer together almost unconsciously. “We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, his skin tingling where the pads of his brother’s fingers touched him. “But I don’t think I can help myself.”

“Nor can I. I want this, My - I want you.”

“ _We_ want you,” Spy piped up, clambering up their limbs until she was perched on Sherlock’s side.

“We’ve wanted you for a while now,” Amynta told her, giving away their secret.

Sherlock looked thoughtful. “Huh, so that’s why you left,” he said, obviously pinpointing in his mind when Mycroft had started distancing himself.

“You weren’t of age then, plus, you’re my brother.”

“I’m of age now.”

“I know, which is why I don’t think I can stop myself.”

“Then don’t,” Spy quipped, jumping down and nestling herself against Mycroft’s chest. He froze, his eyes wide as he looked to Sherlock. The young genius was watching, his eyes just as wide, but he gave a nod of assent. Mycroft reached down and ran his hand slowly and gently up the otter’s back, and she closed her eyes and almost seemed to purr in contentment. Sherlock’s eyes also fell closed and he moaned in pleasure as Mycroft scritched at Spy’s neck, rolling onto his back. Not wanting to miss out, Amynta jumped down and landed on Sherlock’s chest and the teen automatically reached up to pet her. Mycroft gasped as he felt the touch through the bond with his daemon, never before having felt so vulnerable, but so loved.

The taboo of touching someone else’s daemon was even greater than the taboo of incest, but this just made it all the more special. The only time it was acceptable for someone to touch was when they were in love with the other person. Mycroft could only hope at what that meant, that Sherlock had allowed his brother to place his hands on Spy. He knew for a fact that it was true in his case - he loved Sherlock more than just as a brother. He would do anything for him; give him anything; share his very soul.

When the sensations became a little too much, their daemons returned to the end of the bed, and the brothers rolled back to face each other. Sherlock’s eyes were blown wide with desire and he was panting softly through barely parted lips. Mycroft felt the sudden urge to kiss him and he moved forward before he could rethink it. Their lips touched and Sherlock moaned at the sensation, which caused Mycroft to move more forcefully against him. He flicked out his tongue and tasted that perfect cupid’s bow, then plunged it between his brother’s lips. Their tongues danced together as their hands found each other and tangled together.

They continued kissing, exploring each other as they mapped the other’s mouth. Mycroft desperately wanted more but he sensed that for now, this was Sherlock’s limit. He began to slow the pace, until they were exchanging simple, chaste kisses. Sherlock drew back and then he smiled at Mycroft, the older man feeling a tightening in his chest at the sight. “Promise you won’t regret this tomorrow?” the younger man pleaded.

“I could never regret this, brother mine.”

“Good.” He rolled over and then scooted backwards until he was pressed firmly against the large spoon. Mycroft nuzzled his face against the nape of Sherlock’s neck, feeling Amynta doing the same to Spy at their feet. “Goodnight,” Sherlock said softly.

“Goodnight,” Mycroft replied, turning off the light. As darkness settled over the room he held his brother close and vowed he would never flee again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you adore Mylock but find you don't have anyone in real life who won't judge you for it, why not join our FB group? It's one of those 'secret' affairs so no one can see you're a member, and we spend our time sharing pics of our boys, fic recs, our own fanart and stories, and just generally swooning over the brothers. It's very friendly and accepting, with people from all over the world. If you'd like to join, drop me an email at scarletmanuka1@gmail.com and I'll send you an email invite to the group. If the address you email me from isn't the one you use for FB, just make sure you include it in the email so I use the right one for the invite.


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